Tank

We've been hiding in this thicket for hours, watching a mountain cabin that reminds me way too much of the house I was born in. Five Hell's Spawn MC enforcers have been hiding out in this cabin for weeks, but that's all the time it bought them. Tonight, the devil comes for them.

"They're as asleep as they're gonna be," Ice says in a sharp whisper that cuts through the nighttime silence like a knife.

"The light's still on," I tell him, since it's true. The light in the main room has been on since dusk, and it's almost one AM now. But I think they just left it on because they're scared of the dark.

Ice shifts, rustling the leaves and dry branches beneath his feet. It sounds like an avalanche in the silence. "I don't see why we can't just lock them inside and burn the whole place down."

I look at him sharply, some of the guys with us grumbling what could be taken as agreement. I've made us wait a long time tonight. Longer than necessary. I said it was to make sure they were well asleep, but the real reason I made us wait is because there's something so sad about killing men who think they're safe and well hidden, and I'm feeling that sadness strongly tonight.

"We're not burning them alive, because we're not fucking psychos," I reply. And I'm not about to add listening to men scream as they burn to my memories.

Ice doesn't meet my eyes, but I can still see how much he wants the men inside that hut to suffer before they die. Hell's Spawn MC held Ice prisoner for six years after butchering his family and his entire MC. He's here to get his revenge. I'm here because my own MC—Devil's Nightmare—of which I am the Vice President have vowed to take the Spawns down. Which means that this is my show, my call, and we're doing it my way. To date, we've already killed all the Spawns except the five in this hut and the ten or so still on the run somewhere. That's over two hundred and fifty men down. Soon this unpleasantness will be over.

I pull the bandana tied around my neck up over my mouth and nose. Not sure why I'm hiding my face, since we're out in the middle of nowhere and the only people here apart from us will soon be dead. Maybe I'm doing it to hide from myself. Or just out of habit. Who the fuck knows? I've already killed so many men, what's a few more? I have no idea why I'm even having these regretful thoughts about it. Maybe it's just because it's taking so damn long to wipe out the Spawns. But they deserve it, every last one of them.

The brothers take my gesture as a sign that this shit is about to go down, start pulling their own bandanas over their faces, unholstering their guns, cocking them, and otherwise getting ready. Ice is so excited I feel it in the air between like heat from a raging fire, and it's not pleasant.

"Let's make this clean," I tell the guys. "In and out. Me, Ice and Rook will go in, the rest of you surround the cabin and make sure no one escapes."

"Yeah, Tank, we got it the first five times you told us the plan," Level, a recent addition to our MC, finds the nerve to say. But they're probably all thinking it, so I'll let it slide.

"Try not to make too much noise approaching the house," I whisper and start walking, pulling out my Glock as I do.

The closer I get to the hut, the farther away it seems to draw. But I'm used to this weird tunnel vision that always comes before a kill. Once I reach the front door, my body will know what to do.

"Take out the light first," I say to Rook as we reach the porch. The rest of my guys are already fanning out to surround the cabin.

"Let's get this shit done," Ice says, sounding like a horse might if it could talk while chomping at the bit. I like the guy, and he's as efficient and cool when killing as any of my brothers, but he tends to get more than a little creepy right before the killing starts. He enjoys it too much. It's not good to like it this much. Even when it's in revenge. But what the fuck do I know? I've never had to take revenge on anyone in my life. Not the deeply personal kind like Ice is taking, anyway.

The only sound coming from the small two-room cabin is snoring. They're all asleep. A week or so ago, when we first tracked them to this hiding place, they kept guard all night, but they stopped doing that. Not that it would've helped them tonight. The guard would just be the first to die. Alone. In the dark. Why the fuck do I care?

I take my position in front of the door, Ice and Rook stand each to one side of it.

"Let's do this," I whisper and kick down the door.

I used too much force, and the whole thing goes crashing off the hinges, stirring up a cloud of dust as it lands on the floor. Snores stop abruptly, shouts of alarm replacing them. Rook takes out the only light in the room with a well-aimed shot. The moonlight is enough to see by and the short glimpse of the faint light didn’t mess up my night vision too much.

I rush in, take out the first guy while he's still reaching for his gun. A bullet whizzes past my head, gets lodged in the wooden wall behind me. But the shooter is dead from Rook's bullet to the head before I even have time to process how close I just came to dying.

Shouts and shots are firing off outside too, followed by cries of pain interspersed with pleas. Three men are dead or dying in the living room, the fourth is dying outside, but Ice has the fifth and last one in a headlock, holding a knife to his throat.

"I promised you I'd get you, didn't I?" he asks the man and it's clear they have some detailed and unpleasant history. The man is red in the face, spit flying from his mouth as he tries to break free. He won't break free. I guess I'm about to witness Ice butcher another Spawn, and I've seen quite enough of that these last couple of months.

"Ice, let's get this done quickly," I say, and it might sound like a suggestion, but it's actually an order.

Ice flashes me an angry look, but then slides the blade across the man's neck opening his jugular and causing blood to spray out in an arc. Most of it lands on my boots. By the time Ice lets the man fall to the ground, the blood is already soaking through the leather.

Fucking perfect. Now I'll have to break in a brand new pair of boots.

Maybe that's a weird thing to be worried about after just seeing five men die, but damn it, I hate breaking in new boots. I've seen lots of men die, and I've made my peace with my place in this world a long time ago.

* * *

We returned from the job at dawn, but I couldn't sleep, was out buying new boots by ten AM. Been wishing I could take them off again, since I put them on.

"So, I hear everything went smoothly last night," Cross says, joining me at the dining table where I'm just finishing my afternoon snack.

The three younger members eating at the far end of the long table sit up when they hear him speak and greet him formally, which is only fitting since he's our president.

They probably can't hear the undertone in his voice, but I can. I've known him for so long that I can read every one of his moods and he's not happy with me right now. He wants to know why I didn't come to him to report how it went down last night. But I knew Rook would do it first thing in the morning, and I needed new boots.

"It went well," I say, stuffing the last piece of my sandwich into my mouth. "No one'll find the bodies until they're nothing more than rotted flesh on bone. They chose a good hiding place. Remote. We didn't even bother burying them."

Cross leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. "What's troubling you, Tank?"

"You mean apart from new shoes?" I ask, sticking my foot out to show him my shiny new pair of boots. "Nothing much."

He doesn't believe me, I can read that clearly in his face, but he's not one to pry, and I'm not one to complain about my problems. Life's too fucking short for bitching and moaning. We proved that last night. Not that every one of those fuckers didn't deserve to die. Just like I do. Just like Cross does.

"Nothing that a couple of hours at Grey's Home won't fix, anyway," I say, looking over at the three younger members. Two of them were with me last night. "Anyone wanna join me?"

"Grey's as in that place for retards?" one of them asks innocently enough, but it still pisses me off more than it should.

"We don’t call them retards anymore," I say. "And they need help raising some money for a new roof and such."

"I'll pass, thanks anyway," the third guy says. He calls himself Level, as in he "levels" men with the ground, but in my experience working with him, he hasn't earned that name yet. But he's still in his twenties and looks younger. He has time yet. Maybe.

"It's good to do something for the soul every once in a while," I tell him. "It offsets the other shit."

Maybe I said too much. Cross sure is looking at me like that's the case, but fuck it, that's what I believe. I've been volunteering all over the place for years, giving back, and it's helped keep me alive this long. I believe that too. Besides, the retards are fun and I need something to cheer me up today.

Level and the two other ones are exchanging guarded looks like they think their VP's lost it, but doesn't know it yet.

"Fine, suit yourselves," I say and start walking out. "Don't say I didn't warn you though."

Cross follows me out of the dining room.

"It's best not to show the new members any weakness, Tank," he tells me. "We're at war and you need them to follow your commands, not wonder if you've lost it."

I round on him. "When have you ever known me to be weak, Cross?"

We lock eyes for a few seconds after I ask that. We both know the answer is, "Never", but Cross still seems to think I'm being weak now. He doesn't say it though.

"With Ice staging another of the bloodbaths he's becoming famous for, all that fucking scene last night needed was tall mountains in the background and snow falling thick. Then it’d be the picture of my childhood home," I say, and it's all I need to say. Cross knows what I'm talking about, but I can see his eyes grow darker and darker with worry, so maybe I should stop talking.

"I handle mine, Cross, I always have. You know that," I add. "But this war with the Spawns, man, that's a lot of deaths in a short time. More than two-fifty since October."

And it's May now. The last time I kept any kind of tally on how many members Hell's Spawn MC had was about ten years ago, and the count stood at seventy-five then. They’ve expanded over the years, that's for sure.

"Yeah, well, it needed doing," Cross says in a rather defensive tone. Not something I'm used to hearing. But it is his woman that he started this war for. We've already lost ten brothers to it and Straw might go any day from that gunshot wound to the stomach.

But that's neither here nor there right now.

I know Cross grieves every last one of those brothers. And he's more than just an MC brother to me. He's like a blood brother, which makes his ol' lady Roxie my sister. The Spawns killed her entire family and kept her brother Ice prisoner for years. She deserves her revenge too, and we can provide it.

"The Spawns are getting what they deserve," I say. "I just wish it wasn't taking so fucking long, that's all."

"It's almost done," Cross says. "And as far as I'm concerned, this is the last job of this kind we're carrying out."

We were always the MC that other MCs hired to do their dirty work for them. Cross has been working hard to get us out of that line of work and into less bloody waters. I was one of the loudest opposers to that plan of his. But I'm beginning to see it his way. Only, it's way too early to admit that. This weird attack of conscience I’m experiencing will probably blow over.